


I finally stopped trying to think of something clever this is literally just cuddles

by mercuryhatter



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, gratuitous cuddlefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter





	I finally stopped trying to think of something clever this is literally just cuddles

After a few years of meeting, most of Les Amis have fallen into a pattern of who goes home with whom and where. Feuilly usually goes straight home to sleep before work, but he’s occasionally accompanied by Combeferre with a book in hand; however, Combeferre usually goes home with Enjolras. Bahorel and Grantaire often go out drinking together and there’s really no telling where they’ll end up by morning. Courfeyrac alternates between his rooms with Marius or a flat belonging to his latest mistress, but at least a third of the time he accompanies Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Joly and Bossuet go home together without fail. Jehan divides his time between Bahorel and Grantaire, and going straight home to take care of his flowers, his cat, and his writing.

So they have split up in their normal manner, with Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, and Joly and Bossuet together, Feuilly and Jehan alone, and Bahorel and Grantaire off to tear things (and probably themselves) up. Enjolras and Combeferre are talking excitedly about a pamphlet they’ve been editing, with Courfeyrac happily in between them, an arm around each of their shoulders as they reach across him to talk with their hands. They end up in much the same position when they reach Enjolras’ flat; there aren’t enough chairs and the tables are covered in papers anyway, so they all fall comfortably on the bed, Courfeyrac in the center, Enjolras on the left with his chin on Courfeyrac’s chest, and Combeferre sitting up on the right with his legs across Courfeyrac’s. They are all three discussing so loudly at this point that the knock at the door almost goes unnoticed.

“I’ll get it,” Combeferre says automatically, swinging himself off the bed and wrapping his shoulders in a blanket before pulling the door open.

He wasn’t sure who he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Jehan, and absolutely not a Jehan covered in tears.

“Jehan,” Combeferre says, shocked as he reaches for Jehan’s hand, pulling him into an embrace that is received with an urgency bordering on desperation. “Jehan, what’s wrong?”

“I— I just—”

He promptly bursts into tears again, hard, wracking sobs that shake his whole frame, and Combeferre tucks him against his chest and guides him inside, reaching around him to shut the door.

“What’s happening?” Enjolras and Courfeyrac, drawn by the sound of crying, have come out of the bedroom, Courfeyrac’s hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. They both look as shocked as Combeferre to see Jehan held tightly to the other mans chest in a fit of tears, and step out of the way to let Combeferre take him into the bedroom.

“I’ll make tea,” Courfeyrac says immediately; Jehan sniffles something about lavender and Courfeyrac nods in assent, kissing the poet on the forehead before running off to heat the kettle. Enjolras follows Combeferre to the bed again, where Jehan curls up and directs his slowly waning sobs into the pillow while Combeferre rubs his back.

Enjolras looks at Combeferre with a mildly helpless expression before throwing reserve to the wind and lying down next to Jehan so that their heads are facing each other at the same level. He places a hand gently on Jehan’s shoulder and reiterates Combeferre’s earlier plea to be told what is wrong.

“I… oh, you are all going to think me so silly but I didn’t know who else to come to… I was walking and stargazing, which, by the way, I don’t recommend, I walked straight into a wall three times, but the sky, it’s just so… it’s immense, it’s vast and it swallows you, and—” He pulls his face out of the pillow to grab both of Enjolras’ hands and address him directly. “Enjolras, how much can we really change, in such a massive world? Don’t you ever think about how small we all are and feel… daunted?”

Behind Jehan, Combeferre’s hand stills briefly on Jehan’s back, and he makes a small sound of understanding. Courfeyrac arrives with tea, and sits next to Combeferre so he can be told what’s wrong in a whisper while Enjolras shifts closer to Jehan.

“We are small, individually, and even though our power grows when we act as a group, you are right. To cause change is not an easy thing. But just think about how far we’ve come already, slowly, but surely, each insurrection an improvement over the last, each bringing a necessary change to the future no matter how small. Our revolution may not be the last. It may not even seem successful, at the time, but— and this is something Combeferre often has to remind me of, in fact— _all_ of our actions matter, if they reach even just one person. Nothing is entirely futile.” Enjolras leans forward to kiss Jehan’s cheek, brushing the poet’s hair back. “Does that help?”

Jehan nods, letting out a slow breath as he scrubs at his face. Enjolras glances up at Courfeyrac, and their silent agreement ends in rearrangement of limbs, shifting on the bed that’s really too small for four people so that Enjolras and Courfeyrac are on Jehan’s right and Combeferre on Jehan’s left. Jehan is pulled into Combeferre’s chest while the other three resume their previous conversation, but in quieter tones, while Jehan drinks his tea and occasionally puts in his own opinions. When there’s no sound from him for several minutes, Combeferre realizes that he’s fallen asleep against Combeferre’s shoulder, tea mug dripping its dregs slowly onto Combeferre’s trouser leg.

Combeferre flaps a hand at the others to get them to shush, taking the mug carefully from Jehan’s limp hand.

“It _is_ late,” Courfeyrac whispers with a smile. “Maybe we should be following our intrepid poet’s example. Yes, even you,” he adds, catching a look on Enjolras’ face that means he’s about to argue. Courfeyrac tugs at the end of Enjolras’ loosened cravat, which comes off easily in his hands, then pushes the unbuttoned waistcoat from his friend’s shoulders to make sure he gets the message.

“All right,” Enjolras grumbles quietly, swatting Courfeyrac away to strip down to his shirtsleeves himself. Combeferre looks at a loss; having attempted to slide out of his own waistcoat without moving Jehan, he’s instead managed to get one arm stuck in his sleeve. Courfeyrac chuckles and moves Jehan gently onto Enjolras, who takes him easily as he lies down, blond hair spilling over Jehan’s shoulder as Enjolras rests his head there. Courfeyrac lies on Jehan’s other side once Combeferre is untangled from his clothes, and Combeferre nestles up to Courfeyrac, who is trying to find a way to put his arms around everyone at once.

“You don’t have enough arms, just accept it,” Enjolras grumbles as Courfeyrac jostles the bed yet again in his quest to hug everyone. Courfeyrac makes an offended noise.

“Fine, then, you’re the one I’ll leave out,” he whispers huffily, settling his arms around Jehan and Combeferre. If his hand makes its way into Enjolras’ a few moments later, the latter is either too civil or too sleepy to comment.


End file.
